On Tuesday morning, halfway through my physiotherapy, I got a call from Rook. Pookie had apparently shoved a screw up her nose. It was stuck in there. He was calling from the emergency room where a nice ENT specialist had tried to remove it in vain. He told me she had to be hospitalised and the screw would have to be removed by endoscopy, during which Pookie would be under general anaesthesia. She is five. Now the thing about being a parent is you have to show up. “Sorry, pas
The funny thing about people is we get used to things pretty quickly. What’s once surprising, if repeated often enough, becomes the new normal. And this holds true of misfortune too. The first time it’s a tragedy. By the fifth time, it’s your lot in life. Or more accurately, mine. There she goes, I hear you think with an eye-roll, whining about her sorry-ass life. We get it, Veda, it sucks to be you. But this isn’t about that, guys. Honest. I mean, sure, it does suck to be me
So I recently watched The Princess Diaries with Pookie. What? I’m down with the flu and that’s exactly what feel-good movies are made for. Pookie watched under protest – she wanted to watch the animated version of Julia Donaldson’s Room on the Broom instead. But we watch that EVERY friggin’ night, so we watched Anne Hathaway bumble adorably across the screen and I sealed my fate. Before going to bed, Pookie declared she too wanted to be a Princess and wear lovely clothes and
Hardship, I remember reading somewhere, is what steers man towards god. We turn to spirituality, not while being buoyed on the frothy bubbles of joy, but while clawing our way out of the deep pit of tragedy. We pray for strength and fortitude, ask why me, why this, why now and believe that a higher power has the answers. We have to – the alternative is being sucked into an absurdist Universe of Beckett’s devising, where things happen for no reason and existence is as pointles
It’s a couple of weeks till Swear You Won’t Tell? hits the bookstores, online and offline, and I’m reaching critical levels of crazy. In the past couple of weeks, I have had custom-made stationery printed, written self-promoting letters to unsuspecting media people and made a skeleton plan for a book launch, basically out of hope and thin air. Venue, date, catering, guest list – it’s like all those event management lectures I skipped in college are nudging me and saying, “Who
What’s up, you guys? Is it just me or are the days getting shorter? Seems counter-intuitive, I know. Summer’s not so much crept upon us as it’s shoved Spring unceremoniously out of the way, and socks are giving way to sleeveless things here in Mumbai. Yes, okay? I wear socks in winter. I’m old and always cold. Deal with it. My point is, the days ought to be longer, but they’re seeming much shorter to me. Possibly because they’re so jam-packed with things to do that I feel lik
Three hilarious Indian comedians whose sense of humour I love. One internationally acclaimed novelist whose work I adore. That’s four people whom I’ve now successfully beleaguered into giving me cover blurbs for the book. Not going to lie, I did a little dance every time one of them sent me a mail. Am I proud? No. Ecstatic? Oh, hell yes! Watch this space, people. Things are going to get… embarrassing. For me. In a good way. Yeah. #Journal #NewBook
Hey you guys, it’s been a while, right? To be precise, A WHILE. That last story was in February and if any of you have found your way here, you must be wondering what the actual hell is going on. First, I go AWOL for months.
Then, I shift from Blogger to WordPress.
Then, I go make this awesome, I repeat, AWESOME, website. (Totally did it all by myself, by the way, that’s right, applause IS. IN. ORDER.) What is up, you are wondering. All three of you. I’ll tell you what. A